


Hidden in the Sand

by ablankshot



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 09:24:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14102373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ablankshot/pseuds/ablankshot
Summary: The stars overhead are positioned differently on this coast than the other places he’s stayed. Or perhaps it’s something as simple as not having city lights clogging everything up that he can see them clearly for the first time. The night air doesn’t do a thing to the crisp smell of the salt off the ocean breeze. The sound of the water lapping against the sand is rhythmic. Hypnotic. Soothing. Keith times his breaths with it, standing at the edge and watching the wisps of white spray roll in and crash, then drift out slowly.The most he can hope for is to maybe sleep tonight and not see him again.Keith is never that lucky in his entire life.





	Hidden in the Sand

**Author's Note:**

> Out of my multiple WIPs, this is the one that gets finished.

It’s days like this, when the sun is high overhead and the waves on the ocean just outside are rolling in to the shore, that Keith is glad he can always duck into the freezer when the heat is overwhelming. It was cool, and the smell of the home made ice cream was soothing in its own way. It truly was a shame it did nothing about the sound. The shouting pounded through the freezer wall. No amount of insulation can drown out Lance arguing over what music to listen to while they work. 

Coran had left Keith in charge while he went to the bank. He’d said something about Keith being the ‘on paper legal adult’ of the staff. All it really means is Keith was the only one allowed to handle the raw meat and the griddle-deep-fryer. It definitely doesn’t matter that Hunk was better at it than he was. If something goes wrong, they had to make sure they had their asses covered by the law, so Keith was in charge any time Coran leaves. Which iss pretty often after lunch time. 

The main portion of the building is big enough for two people to work comfortably in. The three of them squeeze in to work the front - window and register, ice cream and milk shakes, and flavored shaved ice. There’s just enough space for one of them to be in the one-man-kitchen or in the freezer bringing up fresh ice cream. 

On this day, the heat is sweltering. They’re each taking turns standing in the freezer while it’s slow; 10 in the morning on a Tuesday in late April isn’t going to bring many people to the beach. Tourist season hasn’t started yet and local kids aren’t out of school yet. It would pick up in a couple of hours for lunch and then again in the late afternoon. Until then, the most they can do is sit around, talk, and drag Keith to cook for the one or two customers that come up to the window. He wished he didn’t have to leave the freezer. Opening the back door to come in is like stepping into an oven. But he manages to get a clear view of the front and taps the nearest shoulder.

“Lance.” His voice cuts over the music. “Window.” 

Lance leans to see around the half-wall blocking the fryer from the customer window. There’s someone there, just out of view looking at the menu plastered to the front. Hunk follows Lance that direction, waiting for the possibility of a cold snack order. Keith takes his place at the griddle and fryer. His brows pinch together and he sighs when he hears Lance yell out for a burger, all the way. It’s not even hard work. It’s the company he’s surrounded by that makes it exhausting. 

_This is supposed to be a temporary job_ , he thinks to himself. Just a short stop while his car gets repaired and he can keep traveling. Coran had understood that when he hired Keith, paying him in cash for his shifts through a month or two. At least until they find someone permanent that can legally work the kitchen portion in his place. He can’t be more grateful that it’s temporary as he looks down to slather this burger with mustard and ketchup, lettuce, tomato, and some onion rings. Hunk’s face makes a contorted expression - likely his internal pain at seeing such a mangled mess of a burger - when it gets handed around the half-wall. 

_It’s supposed to be temporary_ he reminds himself when he sees the customer, tall, broad shouldered, the front of his hair bleached white and a smile that guts him through his core. 

“Man, did you _see_ that guy?” Lance is almost falling out of the front window to watch the customer leave down the boardwalk. “Holy crow, he can walk.” 

Hunk starts tugging his shirt to pull Lance back in. “C’mon, let’s just get back to work. Keith, do you need, like, some pointers or something for burgers that bi-....uh oh.” 

Keith is still staring straight ahead at the window, as if the guy never left. 

They all realize that second he’s doomed.

The group he’s staying with is just a few blocks away in a three story beach house, owned by a friend of a friend. He still hasn’t been able to figure out if they’re part of the mafia; he doesn’t think he should really ask. Not when the room is free and clean. The entire walk after closing, he can’t get that guy’s face out if his mind. He didn’t even see his entire face, Lance was in the way. But he definitely saw the bangs and his smile. It was _enough_. 

Thace is the first to notice something amiss, but he knows to leave well enough alone. If Ulaz had been awake, he likely would probably try to ask. It’s Antok that decides he needs to point it out. 

“Did they fix your car finally?”

Antok never talked much, so it jerks Keith out of his imagination of that smile trying to eat that burger. “What? Oh-- Shit.” He hadn’t realized he’d even forgotten to check. He was supposed to call around second break. “No idea.” 

Keith sighs and flops onto the couch with his head leaning over the back. Antok is watching him from the balcony of the second floor like he’s an interesting speck for scientific research. “Weren’t you itching to get it repaired and get out of here?” 

Keith had been antsy when he realized how bad in shape his car was when he got here. He was supposed to be visiting for a few days at most, but now it’s been a month. He had been calling the shop every three days since it went in. It was one of the few things he owned outright and owed nothing to anyone for. He felt lost without it. Turns out, not taking it to be looked at regularly had done some real damage on the engine, so it had a lot to be done. 

“Just- was busy at the shack.” 

Antok’s eyes narrow down at him. There’s no way they were so busy during the normal nine to five business hours that Keith couldn’t have made his usual call. They both knew it. No glare could disprove that, no matter how intently Keith aimed it up at him. But it seems to be enough to change the subject. 

“Were you still wanting to come see that movie with us?”

Keith closes his eyes and heaves a sigh through his nose. “Yeah, sure. Next week, right?”

“Next week. Don’t forget.” 

Staying a few blocks from where he works is both a blessing and a curse. While it means he doesn’t have to wake up early to get there, Keith is still expected to wake up early and get there since he can. It’s money and he can’t be picky. He meets Coran there at six as the sun is coming up over the horizon, bringing with it the soft oranges and purples over the ocean. Keith takes a deep breath of the salty smell. That guy isn’t going to come back. It was likely a one time thing. 

The morning goes like clockwork: Keith putting together burger patties and cutting potatoes for fries, Coran in the back making the ice cream. 

“Mint chocolate today, I think!” is what Coran ultimately decides before he turns on some classic oldies station and gets to work. It’s nice. This part of the day Keith almost enjoys if he lets himself. A few locals come by for a milkshake or shaved ice. Easy things he can handle, and this early they don’t expect conversation. It’s perfect. And like clockwork, Coran leaves for the bank - and the afternoon - when Lance and Hunk show up for their shifts. Coran comes back around dusk when the night crowds show up. Coran and Keith stay behind to close and lock up at midnight. 

It’s easy those few days to let that guy slip from his thoughts, worry about his car again, where he’ll drive after this city. 

It happens on a Friday. Keith won’t ever forget. He’s going over the stock for the evening rush when he hears Lance at the front. 

“Whoa! Hey, you’re back!” Lance almost leans out the window to talk to a customer who’s come up. Hunk stepped away to the bathroom, so Keith has to go drag him back in, pulling Lance by the shirt. 

“What’ve we told you about climbing out like that?” Keith doesn’t notice, not at first. He’s focused on getting Lance in this side of the window and not having to explain to Coran why this oversized twig would be bleeding on the deck outside if he falls through. 

“ _Keith_.” Lance sort of nods his head to the window to remind him they have a customer. Keith takes a deep breath, then faces it.

“Sorry.” 

The laugh that gets in response is light and easy, unjudging and it stops Keith’s heart for a few beats. That guy really is back. And he’s even more gorgeous getting to see all of his face. Oh, he is so fucked. Keith stares at him, dazed long enough that Lance carefully pushes him out of the way and takes control of the situation. Keith doesn’t hear any of it. His heart is pounding and every other sound is muffled on the other side of a closed off tunnel, his eyes zeroing in on this man’s mouth forming words, how his lips bunch up at the corners when he smiles and the way that smile reaches his eyes. 

Beautiful. This man is beautiful. And Keith is undeniably, conclusively _fucked_. The sun behind this man is still rising through the morning, casting the best light to catch his hair. The gulls outside are calling out in tune with the soundtrack of his life (and when his life’s soundtrack became a remake of a 50’s love song, he’ll never know, don’t ask his subconscious). It’s so picturesque, it would be laughable if it wasn’t happening to him. 

Keith is so hyperfocused, Lance has to shove him to the cook area. The soundtrack comes into focus as the radio announcer cuts into the end of the song and Lance mumbling about funnel cake gets him into gear. Right. Funnel cake. One of the easier things, nearly impossible for him to mangle because it always looks like a sloppy mess. 

The fryer faces away from the window. Which is a damn shame right now. Lance goes back to make conversation while the guy waits. Keith can hear snippets of it, that the guy’s lived here for a few years now. He keeps trying local places. Keith wishes Lance would shut up and just let Keith hear him. No, instead he hears Lance.

“Hey - put chocolate on that!” 

Keith is glad the fryer faces away from the window. As gorgeous as this guy is, he has terrible taste. 

He can’t bear to watch the chocolate sauce covered funnel cake go out the window. He doesn’t want to try to imagine this gorgeous man eat that pile of fried dough and sugar. At least this time, Lance only leans a little out the window. It’s far enough that he can’t see Keith is stewing in his own dread at the fryer. Hunk doesn’t miss it though. For a big guy in what amounts to a metal shed, he can come and go pretty quietly. He rests one big hand on Keith’s shoulder, not bothering to say anything. He knows. Hunk knows what’s happening to him, and moreover he seems almost sympathetic? 

Hunk lets out a deep sigh. “That guy has terrible taste.” 

Okay, so maybe not sympathetic about the same thing. Keith looks over his shoulder at Lance still craning out to watch the guy leave. He doesn’t seem to notice Keith’s crisis back here, which is fine. 

“Keith, seriously, do you-- I mean, you probably don’t want to talk about it but you probably should? You were kind of, I dunno, I mean I don’t know how you usually are around really hot guys, so maybe this is just normal, but if it’s not and you wanna talk--”

It’s only by some grace of a higher being that his phone rings to save him from this moment of the beginning of a nightmare. Even better was the news that his car is ready. Keith grabs his keys by the door, “Tell Coran I’ll be right back.” 

The shop isn’t that far down the street. On a tiny strip of land like this, everything gets jumbled together between tourist stops and local resident businesses. Further north in the mainland, the more of a real city it gets - a large hospital, a university, big hotels - and it’s not bad. But Keith is enjoying the quieter beach locals on this end, a small peninsula wide enough for a two lane road, a few tiny cul-de-sacs, and a boardwalk. 

It doesn’t take but almost an hour to get his car and drive it back to the shack. Coran had gotten there while he was gone and already heard the news. After all, getting his car repaired is why Keith was staying as long as he was. Coran is ready with his last day’s pay, but Keith walks past him to tie his hair up and hop into place to work at the griddle.

“Uh,” Coran starts, “didn’t you just get your car back?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“So… You’re still here.” 

“Yeah.” 

The look on Coran’s face to Lance is hint enough that there’s still confusion. He can tell the wheels are turning for Hunk, who rubs at his chin, then smiles.

“ _Oh_. Oh, I get it.”

“Don’t.” 

“You wanna see that guy again! Oh man--”

“ _Hunk_ ,” Keith’s tone is pleading. Please, let him suffer this in alone. So, yes, he’s hoping maybe that guy will come back a second time today. Maybe he’ll stay and work and use needing traveling money as an excuse to see if _maybe_ he’ll come back over the weekend. He doesn’t know the guy’s name or where he actually stays. He only knows that the guy’s on this boardwalk sometimes around lunch. He stands there trying to concoct his excuses and rationalize staying another month or three. Keith misses the conversation happening around him. Keith misses the conversation happening around him for the next five hours, too caught up in realizing how badly he wants to try and talk to that man. He’d frozen before. He won’t freeze again. 

He works through the weekend. He handles the overworking, the heat, the bickering from the coworkers. The long hours and late nights. But there’s no sign of him. It’s like he drifted away with the tide, a sight for only when he was stuck. Now that he has his way out, the man is gone. 

Antok plops beside him on the couch with some bread snack Keith has only seen on this coast. 

“You got it bad, huh.” 

Keith rolls his head over to look at him. “What?” 

“Whoever it is you met, you got it bad. Is that why you haven’t quit that place yet?” 

He watches Antok, slowly meets those questioning, intuitive eyes. He can’t look at them for long; they’ve only known each other for a couple of months but Antok can already read him too easily. His eyes search for Thace at the table behind them with a pile of books and notepads. Thace glances at him, sees the pleading in Keith’s eyes to save him from this conversation, then buries his head even deeper in his course work. 

Keith’s thoughts spiral, he can feel himself sinking deeper into the couch the more he’s forced to think about this. It’s been years since he’s felt like this - like he’s back in _high school_ all over again. He can’t go down this road. There’s nothing for him at the end but emptiness and a heart he breaks himself. But when he closes his eyes, when he tries to breathe, all he sees is that smile that burns him, the laugh that lifted a weight off his shoulders he’d gotten used to carrying. 

Ulaz. Ulaz is nice, Ulaz is _kind_ and can help end this conversation by changing the subject. But he’d gone to the store in town and is nowhere near them. Why is he always not around when Keith needs back up? 

He has to get out. He can’t let this fester into something real. 

Keith gasps, moving suddenly and on his feet. Antok startles as Keith excuses himself, climbs over the back of the couch and too the door. It’s well past one in the morning, and there isn’t anywhere out here for him to go. But he doesn’t care. He just has to walk alone for a while and pretend this isn’t happening to him. 

The stars overhead are positioned differently on this coast than the other places he’s stayed. Or perhaps it’s something as simple as not having city lights clogging everything up that he can see them clearly for the first time. The night air doesn’t do a thing to the crisp smell of the salt off the ocean breeze. The sound of the water lapping against the sand is rhythmic. Hypnotic. Soothing. Keith times his breaths with it, standing at the edge and watching the wisps of white spray roll in and crash, then drift out slowly. 

The most he can hope for is to maybe sleep tonight and not see him again. 

Keith is never that lucky in his entire life. 

“It’s nice out here.” 

Life is never this kind to him. Keith looks over and sees the wisp of white on dark hair standing not even five feet away. If he doesn’t answer, maybe he’ll leave and he won’t embarrass himself. 

“It’s quieter at night. And if you watch, you can see the crabs going into the water.” 

This guy says it so casually, like he could strike up a conversation with a lamp post and get it to talk back to him. The mistake is when he turns to _look_ at Keith and have the never to _smile_. Keith feels an instant tug in his chest and his face get heated. He’s grateful it’s dark, or he would never live through this single moment. 

The man watches him for a moment, then steps closer. “I’m Shiro. You work at the Shack, you cooked my order, right?”

Keith can feel himself nod, like an out of body experience watching himself go through the motions of polite conversation. “I’m Keith.” 

Shiro’s eyes only brighten at that. It’s been five minutes and saying his name is the only thing Keith has said the entire time. He might die. He might throw himself into the ocean and never come up for air. He’ll let these crabs drag him in. This is the worst moment of his life, because he is sinking hard and fast into what he was trying to run from, and it’s this man’s bright kind smile in the dead of night. 

“The funnel cake was good! I may come back, I’ve got kind of a sweet tooth.” 

How normal people have normal conversations like this is so far over Keith’s head. He doesn’t know how the words, “We have flavored shaved ice,” come out of his mouth. Like that’s just the natural flow of this exchange. This guy, who has horrible taste and a sweet tooth, may come back for what is effectively shaved frozen water and sugar flavoring. 

He can’t remember what happened. The rest of their talk drifts with the tide going out, but he remembers waving goodbye to him. Keith doesn’t know how much time has passed; he imagines this is what being possessed feels like. You can see yourself doing and saying these things that are so unlike yourself, but you can’t stop it. But what he does remember is that the house is dark when he comes back. Surely that encounter was a dream. It wasn’t real. He silently crawls himself into the room they let him use and into bed. He ends up sleeping so deeply, he misses his first alarm at six in the morning.

Monday is the worst day of his life. 

It didn’t start that way. It started with Coran chiding him for coming in when he was scheduled and not early like he had been. He had to do all the opening work himself after having gotten used to Keith being there to help this last month and a half. 

The heat is already steaming off the pavement, and the day only creeps from mildly annoying to bad as the morning goes on. The first day of summer season was lost on Keith having been dropped out of college for some time now. He loses track of the school seasons and semesters and it’s not until the first scrawny teenagers come to their window at nine that he realizes the kind of day this is going to be. 

Hunk and Lance are full of energy having gotten their finals scores back, thus ending their first semester of college. Hunk explains he’s considering summer courses. Lance tries to convince the shack that making Cs is the same as acing a course. It’s a lot of chatter amidst an already busy, crowded space. Keith knows it’s the heat and lack of sleep making him irritable. He decides to keep his head down and work instead. 

This is the sort of day Coran had been preparing for. Busy, fast, loud. Keith tunes most of it out, listening for any orders he has to do - multiple at a time - and not even hearing the radio above him. Keith is on autopilot for the majority of the morning, his hands doing what needs to be done with no extra thought. 

It quiets down some in the afternoon, enough that the younger boys can take a break outside and leave Coran and Keith to clean up and prep for the next potential rush. 

It’s that moment he allows himself to breathe that he day goes from draining to horrible. He hears Coran greeting a customer at the window and doesn’t think much of it. Not until he hears that familiar voice joking about a sweet tooth. His heart pounds the breath out of his ribcage. _Why is he here, why did he come back?_

“Keith mentioned you guys have shaved ice? I thought I’d give it a try.” 

Christ, why is Shiro talking about him. Why did he even remember that conversation from a dream like it actually happened? Keith feels that same feeling as last night, that strange out of body feeling of watching himself get the ice block ready on the shaver and waiting to hear the flavor. The loud thumping in his ears as his heart pumps blocks out the sound of Hunk and Lance coming back. He only hears Lance greeting Shiro at the window like a distant, muffled whisper three feet from him. 

He flicks the switch and listens to the blades start turning. He listens to make sure they’re working right before he starts pushing the ice towards it, watching almost numbly as the shavings fall down the chute into the little paper cone-cup. 

“Huh.” The sound goes wrong. It was something Coran said happens sometimes, the ice gets stuck on these machines. He hears it the same time he hears that voice.

“Hey, Keith!” 

Keith looks at the window and smiles, still not himself. Still not really him. His brain seems to snap back and remember he has to fix the machine. It’s simple enough, reaching his hand into the chute to dislodge the stuck ice so it can be repositioned. He’s done it several dozen times now since starting here. No one’s really watching; it’s as normal as saying hi to someone. 

Except. 

He forgot something important. 

“Oh.” 

He feels it the minute it happens. He turns the machine off and takes a breath. It only takes a split second to feel what happened. A stone sinks into his stomach, bottoming him out completely. Keith eyes the little dribbles of red coming down the chute. 

“Hey, Coran? Could you grab me a couple paper towels.” Keith swallows, trying to breathe through the rush of lightheadedness. Lance and Hunk are busy talking to Shiro, they don’t notice. Coran comes to hand him the paper towels, takes one look at his face.

“Keith, you _didn’t_ ,” he whispers. He’s concerned, sure, but there’s a sliver of disbelief in his voice too. Keith takes the paper towels and carefully cradles them under his finger so he can get to the sink. It’s almost ritualistic how often he’s done something like this - calmly, methodically clean up a horrible accident on his own and handle it himself. This time is no different. Once he’s reasonably sure it’s clean, Keith grabs some fresh ones to wrap around it gently. He allows himself to take a single breath.

“I’m going to sit in the freezer for a few minutes.” 

It’s as simple as that. He lets himself out the back door for the freezer and sits in solitude, letting the cold ease him down from the overheating panic he was fighting off in front of Coran. He stares at the ceiling, then remembers some basic first aid his father had taught him. A blood injury, keep level above your heart. Keith sighs and raises his injured hand just above his shoulder. 

“Of course it’s the middle finger,” is the only thought he can muster up. He told the guy they have shaved ice and he actually came for it, and this is what he does. He’s not cut out for crushes. He’s not cut out for dating or anything normal like this. He’ll get this bandaged up and get back on the road. He’ll never see these people again, they’ll never see him make another stupid split second thoughtless choice like this again. It’s for the best really. 

When Keith catches his breath, he steps outside and hates life immediately. There Shiro is, walking by and he has a cookies-and-cream milkshake in his hand and somehow that’s _worse_ than the shaved ice he might have gotten because he really _does_ have such terrible taste. Shiro looks happy to see him, then there’s confusion. Then concern and open worry.

“Keith, hey-- Are you all right, what happened? Is this why you left suddenly?”

Something seems to snap in him. Seeing Shiro with a milkshake in one hand and reaching for him with the other. He can hardly breathe again between the lightheadedness and the outside heat. But one thing comes to mind in his brain, a single thread he can manage to use to string a solid thought together.

“Movie?” _Finish the thought, finish the sentence._ “I mean-- You, do you. Wanna see a movie.” 

Nailed it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not saying this is something that happened to me, but I am saying I have a scar on my right middle finger I don't like to talk about how I got.


End file.
